


Lives

by lea_ysaye



Series: When Life Changes [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Estrangement, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, POV Daryl, POV First Person, POV Rick, POV Second Person, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is out recruiting with Aaron. Rick is inside the walls, going insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't wait, y'all! I've brought this fic as far as I could before we get the new season. It's heartstring-tugging material, proceed with caution!

I’m shaking so hard my teeth click together. I’m out of sight now, and I stagger towards a tree and lean against it. I find it hard to breathe, it hurts in my chest, every time I inhale with a wheeze. For the moment I can’t even get it together enough to sink down onto the leafy ground.

Aaron noticed, I know. Fifteen minutes ago he suggested we stop for the night and I nodded, and dropped my pack. But I kept goin’. He didn’t follow. He’s settin’ camp up right now, I guess. He seems to get some of this, better’n most of’em, even tho he doesn’t know half the story.

That woman on the tree, that was just the last straw. She didn’t even look much like anyone that’s died, but she brought it all back.

The futility of this.

The pain.

The realization that, whatever we do, or don’t do, we’ll still die like dis.

Naked. Scared. Alone.

Tortured by an enemy we don’t understand. Frightened by a world that doesn’t make sense.

I get it now, what he said. We are the walking dead. And as much as I struggle to accept it, that we can’t save them all, that sometimes all of this, all our hard work isn’t enough, I gotta try. Or I might as well sit down right here and let the dead rip me to pieces. Or let these people find me, the ones that leave a W on yer forehead.

I can feel the nausea rise again, and I don’t even much care. What does it matter now? Do I deserve to be well, content, maybe even happy? I never thought so, until jus’ the other day. I thought there, for a lil while, maybe I could be all of them things, cuz he was there, and he wanted to help. I know he did. But in the end he didn’t care enough to, neither. Why am I surprised? It’s like this, every time. He left me, too. Sure, he’s not dead, but for all it should matter to me he could be.

Thing is, tho, it does matter. And it hurts, so much, the way we left it tis mornin'. Everything in me is fightin’, screamin’, to go back now and find him. Take him in my arms and hope he’ll have me back. I shouldn’t have run off like that, it’s all my fault. Life’s so hard for him, he don’t need more of that shit from me. I‘m supposed to help him be strong.

I feel dizzy now. I know it’s cuz I‘m fighting so hard not to be sick. My arm hurts again and feels stiff as I bring it up against my chest. There’s antibiotics back in my pack with Aaron. They make me feel awful, but I take them cuz I know I need to heal to be of any use. And I’ll need to take some more soon, cuz my body’s losing the battle with the nausea now.

I’m glad I’m leaning against this tree already, cuz I still nearly fall down. Pukin’s gettin' more painful every time. My throat feels raw, and there’s tears runnin’ down my face. I pray that nothin’ in the woods has heard me, cuz right now I’m not sure I could fight off even a single walker.

I struggle to breathe as a second wave of sickness hits. My stomach hurts something awful now, and I might be sobbing with the pain, I’m not sure.

Finally I can stop gagging. I feel hardly any better but there’s nothin’ left to bring up, and my body seems to have gotten the message at last. Even though my legs feel shakier’n ever I decide to head back. Truth is, I’m a bit scared, and for once I don’t much fancy bein' alone out here. Somethin’ feels wrong, all around me.

Aaron looks up, concerned, as I join him by the fire. I know he’s gonna start talkin’ again unless I head him off.

“’s fine, man. Jus’ them fuckin’ pills. I‘m all right now.”

I grab my pack and sit close by the fire. I‘m so fuckin’ cold all of a sudden. I hope Aaron can’t see me shiver. He looks me over skeptically.

“You sure? We can head back, y’know…”

I shake my head.

“Nah. Jus’ need to rest. Will be ok in the mornin’…”

I don’t look at him, but I can tell he’s real uneasy about this. To soothe his nerves, and cuz I know I got to, I rummage in my pack and find the antibiotics. I show him the bottle, and he tries to smile, and nods. Even tho it’s the last thing I wanna do right now I shake out two pills and swallow them with some water.

Then I lie down with the pack for a pillow and hope they stay down, and that tomorrow won’t be as awful as I think it might turn out to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete’s dead. You shot him. It’s done.

While this of course is not the first man you ever killed, in fact, not even the first who might not have deserved to die, you’ve rarely killed anyone with so many witnesses present, or with so much emotional detachment.

The last few days have been crazy. Things spiraled out of control, just as you knew they would. What you didn’t anticipate was what would be the trigger.

He’s been gone for two days, and nothing, nothing is as it was, or as it should be. When Carol came to you and told you what Pete was doing to Jessie it was a welcome distraction. You knew something was going on with them, and you had guessed what that something was. Did he deserve what he got from you?

Why is it that we hurt those so much that mean the most to us? Can you honestly say that what Pete did to Jessie happened because he was an evil man? What makes you less evil than him, then? You hurt the person who means the most to you in the world just as much as Pete hurt Jessie. He’d been doing it for longer, and maybe his methods are easier to recognize for what they are, but just because his story is a soap opera your Greek tragedy isn’t any less despicable.

And you killed him. Killed him because a vindictive, grieving, weak woman asked you to. Not because he was a real threat to anyone, not any more. You killed him because it fits in with your plan. You want to take this place, and you need an excuse to spiral this situation out of control. Any excuse will do.

He would have never let you do it, if he’d been here. Hell, if he’d been here you would have never gone over the edge like you did. He is the reason your insides are ripped open and bloody. He is the reason you are going insane.

For a moment you feel hatred. Not for yourself, or for Pete, or even for these people here. Not impatience, not annoyance, or irritation. Hatred. Hatred for him, for leaving you, for making you do things you never thought you could do.

You ripped out a man’s jugular with your teeth to save your family. But that’s just it. Joe was a threat, and that awful act your only option. Had you hesitate, had you shied back, Carl would have been raped, and Michonne. Daryl would be dead, and so would you.

Now this, here, this was madness, pure and simple. You are no longer Officer Friendly. You have crossed a line, one that you’ve seen coming for a long time, and now you’re over on the other side, and there’s no way back. No way to undo this, no way to unsee, unfeel. No way to get back what you had.

Or is there?

The weapon feels hot in your hand, your heart beats heavy in your throat. You look at them all, featureless masks alight in the fire’s glow. Then…

“Rick.”

His voice. Just one word. Your name. He is there, he’s looking at you. His eyes reflect the disbelief, the numbness that’s coursing through you. Paler, dirtier, more tired than he was when he left you can see he’s been through an ordeal of his own. But you can also see, in his eyes, that your journey since you parted ways has been the more grueling, the more insane, right here, behind these walls.

And there is Morgan. You can’t believe it, and it makes no sense. The feeling of disorientation is strong, and despite it all, the pain and the estrangement, in your confusion you seek out his eyes again, scan for the understanding, and the love, you have grown accustomed to from him.

You desperately hope to find them there, still.


	3. Chapter 3

“Daryl, you ok?”

He startles me, and I jump. The sudden jolt intensifies the dizziness, and I grab the bannister by the stairs blindly with my left, groaning.

“Sorry, sorry… I can see you’re not ok… Is it the pills?”

“Yeah…” I manage to croak before my stomach turns over again and I bend over retching. It hurts so fuckin’ much, the acid burns my insides, and tears run down my face. And he’s there, seein’ it all. I’m so embarrassed and curse myself as the puke hits the ground and splatters my shoes. Should’ve gone into the bathroom, locked the door. Forgot all about that, my own fuckin’ fault.

Think that’s it for now. My stomach’s still twisting and cramping, but I’m all empty. I straighten up and turn. Gods, I’m so dizzy. As I take a step, not lookin’ at him, the world tilts and I stagger.

“Easy there…”

He tries to grab me, keep me from falling, but I flinch away, stagger again and only just manage to grab the bannister. I slump against it, my heart racing.

I want him to help me, I feel so bad. And scared. But the memory, of how we left it, is all that’s in my head.

And then he’s by my side, raises one hand but doesn’t touch me. I look at the ground, I don’t move.

“Daryl…”

His voice, my name from him, does me in. He sounds so sad, so worried. And so, so scared.

I’m shivering now, harder and harder. With a sob, I turn to him. And he catches me, holds me real tight as tears start comin', and the world sways and pitches. I feel sick again, try and lean away when I can’t suppress the gagging any longer. He holds me tighter, safer, as more bile trickles into the tall grass by the porch.

Another wave of dizziness engulfs me, and I grip at Rick hard.

“I got you, man, don’t worry… oh Daryl, I’m so sorry…”

And I don’t know why, but suddenly I believe that he means it. When I feel I can straighten up again, finally empty and totally exhausted, he pulls me into an even tighter hug, and I slump against him, resting my head on his shoulder.

I can’t keep from shaking and his hands are on my back, soothing. He holds me up, and I’m so glad cuz I feel weaker than ever. I wish I could stop cryin’, what the fuck is wrong with me. I‘m such a weakling…

“I mean it,” he says, runnin’ his hands up and down my back, and I feel myself calming down. “I’m so sorry, Daryl. I’ve been a selfish dick. I feel like the madness is coming back, but that’s no excuse to make you suffer…”

“Don’t…” My throat’s raw from the stomach acid. I cough, and it fuckin’ hurts. I can only whisper. “It's not jus’ you… I need to learn to talk about stuff…”

My voice gives out, and I cough again, but now I can’t seem t’stop. It hurts so fuckin’ much. Suddenly it’s hard to breathe, and it takes a long time to pass. I hold on to Rick, real scared now. When it finally does Rick takes me by the shoulder and holds me at arm’s length. He looks even more worried than before.

“Let’s get you inside. You’re done in, you need to rest. And we need to get some meds into you, too…”

As if my brain jus’ needed remindin’ my arm suddenly hurts again. I bring it up to my chest automatically, then wish I hadn’t, cuz of course he notices. He looks more worried still but doesn’t say nothin’.

He jus’ puts his arm firmly around my waist and I lean on him, for now jus’ glad he’s there. He walks slowly, makes sure I don’t misstep, like he wants to really show me that he’s sorry. He don’t need to, I’ve forgiven him. He’s my Rick, after all. But still, it’s nice he cares.

I gotta stop as we get in the house. Every breath feels like I’m tryin’ to inhale water, and the room swims in and out of focus. I wonder if I mightn’t pass out. Rick seems to know that something’s up and grips me tighter still.

“Wanna rest on the sofa for a moment?”

I wanna say I’m fine, but the stairs look too daunting.

“Think it'd be better, yeah…”

“I’ll get you something to drink, you’re definitely dehydrated…”

I sink onto the sofa shakily, and he looks down at me.

“You really don’t look so good, Daryl. I… well, there’s no doctor, and now we could really do with one…”

I can feel his pain and confusion like a physical blow. It makes me feel sick again and I close my eyes. A calloused but very gentle hand alights on my forehead.

“You’re really warm… I know they make you feel bad, but I think you should take some more of the antibiotics. We’ll try and find something different tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With my eyes closed I finally relax as the room slows down its crazy motion, and I think I doze off.

“Daryl.”

The sofa descends a little as Rick sits down by my side. I open my eyes and there he is, smiling down at me with a worried frown. His hand is back on my face and he brushes away strands of hair from my forehead. I close my eyes and lean into the touch, but can’t suppress a shudder.

“You’re definitely running a temperature.”

He looks at my arm which lies across my chest. I know the bandage is rusty with dried blood, and dirty. The cut started bleeding again when we got trapped in that car. It’s real sore, too, but I try my best not t’think about it cuz it scares me.

“We got to get this seen to. And then we need you to take it easy for a while.”

 _We._ It's strange how such a small word can make me feel so good, so safe, even now.

“Here.” He hands me two pills and a glass. “Orange juice. You need some sugar or you’ll just feel sick again in a moment. Bet you haven’t eaten properly in days, huh?”

I shrug. But he’s right, of course. I knew them pills would make me puke, so I hardly touched any of the rations Aaron tried to share with me. Didn’t work, I got sick anyway, and now I’m weak as well.

I’m still frightened of the pills, and swallow them reluctantly. Rick’s right, tho, I got to. I can feel the infection in every fiber of my body. And I’m so tired…

“Can we go sleep?”

“Yeah, course. C’mere, I’ll help you up the stairs.”

Rick straightens up and put his arm around my middle again. When I’m upright, clinging to him to wait out that damn dizziness, he looks at me again.

“I still want this, more than anything… I want you, man! I messed up… can you forgive me? I mean, really? Can we start over?”

I look back into them worried blue eyes. There is no doubt in me now. This is my man, and I’m his.

“Course we can.”


	4. Chapter 4

You watch him sleep. He was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow, lights still on and all. You don’t bother undressing him. He needs to rest so badly, and this is way more comfortable than anything you’re all used to, fully dressed or not. You just pulled his shoes off, not least cos you’re pretty sure he threw up all over them.

He looks bad, real bad. Your gut clenches in worry as you study his face. There’s a grayish tinge to his skin, and he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Dark circles under his eyes give his face a hollowness that is truly frightening. His hair is damp with sweat, too, and clinging to his forehead. When you push it out of his eyes you feel the heat radiating off him. The fever is getting worse. He needs different antibiotics urgently, and someone to check that cut. You’re afraid to look under the bandage, but the skin around it is red and warm.

As you watch his brow knits in discomfort. He gives a low moan and shifts restlessly for a moment. You have an idea what’s going on.

His eyes fly open and he looks disoriented for a few seconds. Then the pain and nausea darken his face. His eyes flick to you and you can see pleading in them as he tries to struggle up to sitting. You’re by his side in a flash.

“Rick… help…”

“Easy, man… I got ya…”

You support most of his weight as you lead him into the bathroom, he seems to have no strength left. You can feel him shudder against you. He gags once, and you steer him towards the sink, which is closest. He still doesn’t quite manage. Most of the orange juice that comes up makes it into the sink, though. He heaves again, shaking arms supporting him on the white porcelain rim. You hold him up as good as you can.

He really is incredibly weak, and you struggle to keep him upright, afraid to hurt him. Your arm is round his middle and you can feel his stomach contract painfully under your fingers as his body fights to rid itself of the offensive medication. His breathing is becoming more and more panicky as he tries to get any air at all between heaves. He’s sobbing with the misery, and trying to hide it, and it breaks your heart.

Finally he seems to have purged everything, and slumps against you, utterly spent. He clings on hard, and you can feel his heart racing against you as you hold him close. The sobs have died away to whimpers as he hides his face against your shoulder.

“I got you… Let’s get you back to bed… you done for now, yeah?”

He nods against your shoulder, and you move the two of you slowly back into the bedroom. When you lower him down you accidentally brush his injured arm and he gives a small yell of pain. Your heart contracts with worry again.

The front of his shirt is covered in sick, and there are traces of it on his chin and neck, too. You quickly lower him all the way, then return to the bathroom to soak a towel under the hot tab on the bath. The sink is a mess and you wince at the sight.

He’s barely conscious as you return to his side, but you can’t bear to leave him splattered with his own vomit like this. Quickly you strip off his soiled shirt, wipe his face, neck and chest with the warm wet towel. He feels clammy under your hands and you take extra care to rub him dry properly. He sighs at the sensation, and you keep running the dry towel over him a few more times, since it seems to soothe him.

His hand is pressed against his middle, and you put yours just above it and rub his stomach gently for a few moments, hoping to ease the discomfort a little. He relaxes a little as the tension eases, and wakes up a bit more.

“Rick…”

“I’m here, Daryl. It’s ok now, you’re ok…”

“No more…” His voice cracks.

“I won’t make you take those pills again, no. We’ll get you something else as soon as the sun’s up…”

He’s starting to shiver under your hands and you quickly go and grab a t-shirt from the chest of drawers by the door.

“Here…”

You have to lift him to get the shirt on him, and you try to hurry because his teeth are starting to chatter now, too. He must be severely dehydrated, but you’re reluctant to give him water just yet. Let his stomach settle some, first. Nothing is likely to stay put at the moment.

You pull the covers up to his chin and sit down by his side again. He tries to look at you, but his gaze is out of focus, and he finally gives up, closes his eyes. You rub his shoulders through the blankets, hope he’ll be able to get warm now quickly.

“Cold…”

“I know, Daryl. It’s that fever, and you’re so dehydrated…”

He shudders again, and moans quietly. His lips are a little blue.

It’s no use, he needs water. You get a glass full from the bathroom, giving the sink a quick rinse, too. You don’t want to have to come in here again tonight.

After toeing off your shoes you climb into bed beside him and pull him into your arms so that he’s resting against your chest while you lean on the headboard. You retrieve the water from the bedside table where you’d set the glass down.

“Daryl, wake up for a moment… You gotta take a couple sips, ok?”

You stroke his back gently until he comes round a little more. But then he shakes his head.

“No, please…”

“You have to… You’ll get worse if you don’t drink some water now. C’mon, for me…”

Reluctantly he lifts his head and you hold the glass to his lips. Only a little makes it into his mouth, most runs down his chin. He coughs, weakly, and pulls away.

“Can’t…”

“Ok, ok…” You put the glass away. “Relax now, and go to sleep. We’ll try again later…”

He curls up against you. His hands are like ice, but the rest of him is burning. Slowly, slowly he stops shivering and relaxes under your hands as you stroke his back and shoulders. Finally his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep.

You keep still, holding him. This was horrible, and your heart is heavy with worry and pity. You dread tomorrow. Daryl is really sick now. Will there be anything in Alexandria that can help him?


	5. Chapter 5

“That’s the only other broad spectrum antibiotic we got. The best we can do for now, I hope it’ll be better than the first one…”

You take the little bottle Rosita is holding out to you.

“Thanks. It can hardly be worse. I’ll give him some when he next wakes up.”

You follow her gaze to your man, asleep again on the bed after she’s checked him over. He looks smaller somehow, diminished from the ordeal of the last few days.

Rosita, now one of the few people with any medical knowledge, and for now in charge of the infirmary, came over right away once you’d sent Carl to fetch her this morning. Daryl had woken up by the time she arrived. You’d made him drink some water right away, and it had not made a reappearance, thank goodness. He still felt feverish to your touch, and looked completely done in. For once it had been positively easy to convince him to stay in bed.

You had been less than keen to actually watch Rosita checking on the wound, but you’d swallowed down your distaste. Daryl deserved you staying by his side. The cut was infected, that much was obvious even to you as you threw one quick look at it. Rosita cleaned the wound and the surrounding area, and Daryl had hardly winced. He’d kept his eyes on you for a while, and you’d pulled him into a tighter hug, stroking his hair. Then he’d closed his eyes with a tired sigh and rested his head against your chest.

Just this behavior alone had told you Daryl really isn’t quite himself right now. He’s never shown his affection for you in front of anyone. In fact, you’re not sure any of the others are even aware of what has happened between the two of you. Not that you mind them knowing, but there just wasn’t really time until now to make a thing of it. Rosita hadn’t looked surprised, however, and anyway, it felt right, comforting your man when he had clearly needed it.

By the time Rosita has finished tying the fresh bandages in place he’s mostly asleep again. She gets up from the bed and looks down at Daryl again.

“The infection isn’t too bad, Rick. There’s no irreversible tissue damage or necrosis, as far as I can tell. He needs some proper downtime to heal, though. All this running around, and the heavy lifting, he’s not done himself any favors.”

You don’t say what’s on your mind, that you thought the recruiting had been a stupid idea in the first place. You’ll have to be careful not to blame him for it, either. And he needs to stop putting himself in the line of fire like this constantly. You’re more worried about him than ever.

“Make sure he takes the pills, with plenty of fluids. And he needs to get a few square meals, and soon.”

Rosita looks at you sternly. She’ll make a good medic for this community, your new home.

“I’ll make sure he gets whatever he needs. Thank you for checking on him.”

“No problem.”

With a quick smile she’s gone. You settle Daryl on the pillows carefully, then get up to close the door behind her. Then you return to Daryl’s side. You’re not planning on leaving him alone for the time being.


	6. Chapter 6

I hunker down behind the house and pull the smokes out of my breast pocket. Lighting one with shakin’ fingers I take a drag and lean my head against the warm wood. I’m shaking again, this time not with fever but with anger.

Why don’t he never know when his words cut me to the bone?

*

_“You feeling better today.”_

_“Yeah, much better.”_

_“Good. Arm still hurting? It’s only been three days, take it easy, ok?”_

_“Jus’ hurtin’ a bit. And I am, don’ tworry.”_

_“Ok, good good…”_

_“Rick?”_

_“Huh… oh… what happened to you guys out there… I’m gonna tell Deanna we don’t need to go looking for people anymore…”_

_’Im stunned into silence. Slowly I straighten up from where ’Im crouched by the bike an’dlook at him. My heart is beatin’ wildly, and I feel the urge to run._

_“Feel different about it?”_

_Why does he even need to ask? Don’t he know me at all, after all dis time?_

_“Yeah, I do.”_

_“People out there, they gotta take care of themselves. Just like us.”_

_I don’ tknow what to say, so I say nuthin’. But my insides are roiling, and I almost feel sick again._

_“I’m gonna get him out…”_

_He’s talking about Morgan, locked in one of dem houses. He’s already forgotten me, I can tell. I don’t really listen to the rest, jus’ watch him walk away. I should tell him what I think, but right now there’s no words, jus’ misery fillin’ me up like poison._

*

Why is he taking this away from me? Doesn’t he understand that now I’m left with nuthin’ again?

Doesn’t he care?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a bit confusing having two fics set around the same time right now. :) But I'm doing things differently here, hopefully it's still enjoyable.

He points the gun at me, and I know I fucked up.

Rick was right. Recruiting’s a waste of time. Worse, It's dangerous. Now I know.

Now it’s too late.

“We’re sorry…”

“You gonna be.”

But not as much as me. What will I tell the others? What will I tell Rick?

I watch them drive away, on my bike, with my crossbow. I feel almost numb. The shame’s like a punch to the gut. My insides are churnin'.

Don’t give in. Don’t puke. Don’t let this be as it was after Sophia. I‘m not who I was then. Let me be able to handle this better. Please, oh please…

I start walkin,' nothin' else I can do. It’s real slow, my leg is stiff from when the bike fell on it when I lay it down during the chase. My hip hurts something awful. I put my right hand where the leg joins it and wish I hadn’t. Pain shoots through me, makes me feel sick.

I gotta stop, try and breathe. I lean against one of them burnt trees, trying get air in my lungs without gaggin. My left arm is throbbin', and I look down. The wounds aren’t deep, but they’re full of dirt now, an already red and puffy.

Great, jus’ great. More infection, more antibiotics. Like I need that again.

My head’s pure agony. Is there any part of me that’s not fucked up?

I limp on. Need to get away from here, find the others while I can still move.

Why does this keep happenin'? Why do I never do anything right?

*

“Hey man, you sure you can still drive? You don’t look so good…”

We’re driving to Alexandria in the truck I found, the truck those assholes were lookin' for. Abe and Sasha were where we got separated, which is lucky cuz I don’t think I could’ve gone lookin' for them, not the state I’m in. Cuz Abe’s right. I‘m not so good…

“Daryl?” Sasha looks me over, and I try to ignore her. “Are you all right? Abe’s not wrong, you look really pale…”

“I’m fine…”

We jus’ heard a voice on the radio callin' for help, and all I want to do is get us home quick as I can. No time to lose, who knows what’s happenin' back there. And I don’t feel like answering no questions, neither.

I can’t tell them what happened, that these people double crossed me. I jus’ can’t…

“You’re not fine. Daryl, stop the truck, let Abe drive…”

“We gotta get back… I‘m good to drive, really…”

“No, you’re not, man…”

They’re right, course they’re. My head hurts somethin' awful and I can’t really concentrate on t’road. My leg’s on fire. I hardly noticed it for most of the day but now it hurts so bad. And I feel dizzy, and sick, and it’s no use pretendin' I don’t.

If we crash now, that’ll be my fault. Again, me fuckin' up.

That thought makes me stop the truck. Abe gets out and walks around the front. I sit for a moment, look straight ahead, willin' the dizziness down.

“Daryl…”

Gaze worried, Sasha puts her hand on my arm and I flinch, I can’t help it. A bout of pain shoots through my head and it’s all I can do to not puke all over the cabin. When I can breathe again I open the door and give her a half glance over one shoulder.

“Ya got yer wish. I stopped…”

Abe’s waiting for me to get out and I try to move without showing how much it hurts. It‘s no use. When I put my left foot on the ground the pain in my hip is liked barbed wire and I yell before I can stop myself as my knee gives way.

Lucky Abe’s there. He catches me, else I would’ve fallen onto the road.

“Easy, man.”

Soon as I think my leg will cooperate and I won’t black out I pull away from him.

“’s ok, can manage…”

I limp around the truck, still feelin' dizzy and hold on to the hood to keep my balance. Shit, they’ve seen it now, no use pretendin'.

I climb in next to Sasha, and it’s the hardest thing I feel I’ve ever done, getting into that truck’s cabin again. She wants to help but I ignore her hand.

Finally I’m in the seat. I’m wheezing like I’ve jus' run a mile, and my ears are like stuffed with cotton wool. I feel sick, but maybe if I don’t move I can keep it down.

“Here.”

Sasha holds out a water bottle. I shake my head.

“Drink, Daryl. You look like you’re about to pass out, and what use is that gonna be?”

True enough. I take the bottle, drink some water, and it makes me notice just how hot and parched I been. The water is soothin' and I feel a bit less like death warmed over.

I know it’s no use, tho. They won’t want my help, back at Alexandria or anywhere. I’m stupid, weak. When they find out what I did. No, what I failed to do… They’re better off without me.

I look out the window, ignore the other two. I hate myself, and with each mile we cover I’m more convinced the others do, too.


	8. Chapter 8

What have you done? What brought this about? What the fuck is wrong with you?

He’s out there, your man. Missing in action, trying to keep this fucking place safe, a place he doesn’t even care for, if you need it spelled out. And what do you do? Go and cheat the first chance you get.

And you can’t even pretend she took you by surprise. _You_ went to _her_. She didn’t ask for it. No, this is entirely on you.

Why did you do it? Is he not good enough for you? Not enough? Do you need the excitement so badly?

You knew there was a spark between her and you. You should have dealt with that, days ago, or stayed the fuck away. And you should’ve told him.

What do you want to happen now? Break up with him and have her instead? Sneak round behind his back? Live a lie, right away in this new place? This was supposed to be a place to rebuild your lives. Together, as a family.

He is your family. He is your man, your life, the reason you are still around to see your kids grow up.

You want him, you are still sure of that.

Or are you?

He’s a lot of work. He doesn’t ever talk, or stay still for a minute, and being with him recently has been exhausting cos he’s been so unwell. And going forward, it won’t be easy. He’s struggling with this place, more than anyone else.

And anyway, he might never come back from that outing. Oh god, nono, don’t let that be it…

Would you want that? Easy ending, no mess…

No. Nonono.

You love him, you do. More than anything in your life. You and him, you’ve been through so much. And he’s got your back, always. He’d do anything for you, for your kids.

He’s the one, the only one, who can pull you back from the brink. Get through to you when the darkness threatens.

He’d die for you, and you for him. That’s the truth, still, and always.

And maybe he just did. Maybe this was too big, even for him. He’s still far from well, you should’ve stopped him even going out there. But of course you know he would never have allowed you to stop him.

That’s who he is. He puts you first. You, your kids, and all your family. His family. For the first time in his life he has people he considers worth protecting, worth living for. Worth putting before his own needs, his own fears. He battles his demons for y’all, every day.

And this is how you thank him.

He is coming back, you need to believe it. And when he does you will be honest with him. Ask his forgiveness.

Oh please, let him forgive. And please, let him come home safe.

Home to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided not to continue with this story. The different POVs and the style I wrote this in were great to play with, but the story is too close to what I'm doing elsewhere. I'm still glad I wrote the story, but it's time to move on.


End file.
